The Bonds of Friendship
by MissScorp
Summary: There's only one thing keeping Dick Grayson together after tragedy strikes: the bonds of friendship. One-shot. Set during the Battle for the Cowl/Batman R.I.P./Final Crisis story arcs. *Complete*


**A/N:** Hello… and welcome! Hope this weekend has been fabulous to you all! :)

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"He'll come to me when he needs me to comfort him," Barbara told her when she asked why she wasn't going out there to him.

"He needs you _now_," Raya Kean insisted stubbornly. "He's crashing, Barbara."

Barbara just shook her head. "Dick just needs some time alone right now to process everything that has gone on the last few days. So," she said, leveling her younger cousin with a look that told Raya in no uncertain terms she was to stay away from the man they were quibbling over. "Just leave him alone."

But leaving Dick alone was not something that Raya was about to do. Not when she knew that _alone_ was not what he wanted to be at that moment. Unlike her cousin (who imagined Dick's remaining outside after the small service they'd held was concluded was just his need for some privacy), she knew it was a silent cry for help. If she told her that, though, Barbara would reply that she was "overanalyzing the situation," viewing it through the "eyes of a doctor" rather than those of "his best friend." And Raya would be forced then to retort (with just enough reproach in her tone to convey her displeasure) that that was "bullshit." She was not viewing any part of this situation as a _professional_ would. No part of her training as a Psychologist was necessary to explain what was going on inside the man standing out there in the rain in nothing but his suit jacket.

"No," she'd tell her cousin. What she _knew_ came from "sixteen years" of being this man's "best friend, confidante and partner."

And she'd tell Barbara how their friendship was why she did not need to see his face to know that it could have been carved from granite. That it was why she did not need to look into his eyes to know those depths were more turbulent than the waters of the Indian Ocean. And she'd say it was why she did not need to set her hand upon his well-toned back to know it was stiff as a board, the muscles quivering from the sheer exertion of being held so rigidly for the past hour and a half. Then she'd said that friendship was why she did not need to look to know that his knees were locked tight in order to keep him from sinking into the moist earth beneath his feet. And she'd tell her it was why she did not need to see his hands curling into fists to know he was struggling with the need to hit something just so he'd know he was still _alive_.

No, she'd tell her cousin, she did not need to know any of these things. And she'd tell her why she didn't was because sixteen years with him had taught her how to recognize those things without even having to be near him. Sixteen years had taught her everything there was to know about the man getting soaked to the skin by the drops that were falling faster, harder now. It was the bonds of friendship that explained why Dick was standing there and staring down at the stone marker they'd been forced to hide in the back gardens at Wayne Manor. It was because they were not allowed to erect a monument beside the one that had been setup for Martha and Thomas Wayne following their deaths so many years ago. She knew he was out there because he was bleeding from the wounds being carved into his heart by this lie, this deception, from this masquerade. She knew he was dying with his want to rage, to weep, to grieve for the man who'd taken in an orphaned circus boy and given him a home, a family, a _purpose_.

She knew he was hungering to honor the man who'd bought the world's safety with his life's blood. She knew he desperately wanted to acknowledge the man who'd taught him the meaning of justice. She knew he was being choked by the decision they'd all made about not telling the world that Bruce Wayne was dead. He was being crushed by not being able to tell the world that his father (_their_ father, she silently corrected) was dead.

Like him, she knew that the world could never know that Bruce Wayne was dead, that he'd died while in service to them and sacrificed his life in order to protect them from the self-proclaimed God who'd wanted to eradicate the world in order to bring about his version of utopia. No, they could never tell the world that Bruce Wayne was dead. Because in telling the world that Bruce Wayne was dead they would reveal to the masses exactly who Batman always had been. And that secret was something they all knew could never be revealed. Bruce might have been the hero Gotham needed, that it had deserved, but they could never tell them that. Bruce did not want them to know, and had forbidden them from ever revealing to the world the truth of who protected them. So Gotham was not allowed to mourn the loss of either Bruce Wayne or their silent guardian. And because Gotham could not mourn, they (those who were his family and his friends) could not mourn him either.

Well, not publicly, at least.

But Raya also knew that Richard John Grayson was not going to allow himself to grieve in front of his friends and family, either. Oh, it was not because he was ashamed to show them how much he was hurting. No, she knew that that wasn't it at all. And she knew that it was not because he couldn't bring himself to lean on them for support during this tumultuous time. No, wasn't it either. No, it was because Dick (silly, wonderful and amazing man that he was) would not allow himself to grieve so long as he _believed_ that he had to be the strong one. He would bury his own pain, his own grief, his own needs in order to take care of everyone else. He'd see it as his duty, being how he was the oldest. He'd say it was his "responsibility to take care of his younger siblings" and make sure that "they were all okay."

Well, _she_ saw it as a duty that they could share between them (especially since he was only a month and a half older than her). Her decision made, Raya slid out of her shoes before pushing to her feet. Barbara glanced over at her, one eyebrow arching over the rim of her glasses. "Where are you going?"

"Out to comfort my best friend," she said, crossing towards the patio doors. Nobody else in that breakfast room made a move to stop her. None of them would have dared. Most of them also knew that when it came to her and Dick, there was a fine line you did not cross. A line which some of them knew Barbara was crossing by telling her younger cousin to stay away from Dick.

"Raya," Barbara stated firmly, "I said to leave Dick alone."

"If that's how you want to handle this, Barb?" She tossed over her shoulder. "Fine. But I'm going out there to comfort him. Oh, and by the way?" She glanced back at her cousin, her eyes like green glass. "That's actually what he wants."

"And what makes you such an expert on what Dick wants right now?"

"Sixteen years is what makes me an expert," Raya muttered as she stepped outside. The rain was bracing, invigorating. She pushed at her hair, wandered down the stone path where spearing blades of flowers fanned out, adding color to a world which was bleak and cold. The grass tickled her feet; dampened the hem of her dress. Dick turned his head, watching her as she approached. She saw by the slight softening of his face that he was glad to see her.

"Hi," she said as she stopped in front of him. "Ya looked lonely. So I thought I'd come out here and join ya."

Dick wasn't fooled by her ruse for one minute. He knew why Raya was there, and as much as it annoyed him that it was her who had come out to talk with him instead of Barbara, he was still happy she was there.

"You do realize you're out here in your bare feet, right?" he said with a grin that he knew was more grimace than an actual smile. "And that your dress is getting mud on it."

"Yup," she confirmed with a slight nod. "I know." _Don't care about either_, she silently added.

"And ya do realize that it's raining right now and that you've forgotten to put on a jacket."

"I'll dry," she said with a slight shifting of her shoulders. "I can buy a new dress if I want one. And colds don't last forever." She stepped closer and laid her hand upon his chest. "All that matters is that my best friend needs me right now."

_Ridiculously loyal and stubborn ass woman_, Dick thought, and then he sighed. It was both of those things which made him love and respect her for the woman that she was. With Raya, he never had to question whether or not she'd have his back, or be there when he needed her the most. With her, loyalty was more like a religion. She was even more fanatical about it than Bruce was. Still, she was only wearing one of those long, thin dresses, the kind that didn't offer much in the way of protection from the rain. She was going to catch cold if he didn't get her to go back inside. He shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around her before settling his hands upon her shoulders.

"I'm fine, Rae," he spoke the lie even knowing she'd see right through it. "So go on back into the house."

"Liar," she predictably replied. It wasn't said cruelly, or in an arrogant sort of way. That wasn't Raya's style and he knew her better than that anyway.

"Rae..." he pleaded.

"Dick," she interjected. "We both know you're not _fine_." That hand slid from his chest to his cheek. "None of us are _fine_. Not right now. How can we be?"

She was right. He knew she was right. None of them were all right. He wasn't sure they were ever going to be all right. The greatest thing he'd feared since childhood had come true.

"I…I was not ready to _lose_ him, Rae."

The words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them. He wanted to call them back, to undo the moment, but he knew he couldn't. The damage was done. His shameful secret was out. But then her arms wound around him, much like the ivy which he'd used to climb in order to reach her bedroom window, and held him tight.

"I know, baby," she crooned in his ear. "I know. Now, just hold onto me, okay?"

"No," he said, even as his arms slid around her waist and pulled her against him. "I need to be..."

"You let _me_ be the strong one this time, Dick." She rubbed his back in slow, soothing circles. "You let me be the rock that this storm hammers. I'll weather it for the both of us."

"You can't..."

"Yes," she refuted in a firm voice. "I can." She tilted her head back to look at him. "You're not alone in this, Richard Grayson. _I'm_ here, and _I'll_ help you with taking care of _our_ family."

_Our_ family she said. _Yeah, _he realized as he stared down in those fathomless eyes_. They are her family as much as they are mine_. Theirs was a unique and unusual little family that was bonded together by one common factor: _Bruce_.

Raya didn't need to know that the floodgates burst then. She knew when he dig his fingers into her back and buried his face into the curve of her shoulder that the dam had broken. Nor did she protest when his knees buckled beneath the onslaught and he pulled her down to the ground with him. She just sat there with him in the middle of the wet grass, her arms banded around him, murmuring nonsensical words to him as they grieved for the man, the mentor, the partner, the _father_ they'd lost.


End file.
